


I Could Write A Book

by cosima_phdhaus



Category: Agent Carter (TV)
Genre: Domestic Fluff, F/F
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-03-06
Updated: 2015-03-16
Packaged: 2018-03-16 15:43:25
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,421
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3493829
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cosima_phdhaus/pseuds/cosima_phdhaus
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"You receive a mark when you fall in love, darling. Those are red. If the person you love loves you as well, then the mark turns black on both of you, but once they die, the mark becomes a scar - a light grey scar."<br/>"You only have one black mark."<br/>Harrison Carter walked into the kitchen, pulling up his left sleeve for his daughter and pressing a kiss against his wife's cheek. "So do I," he chuckled, "and that's because we've only ever loved each other, Pegs. That's all I can hope for you too, once you're old enough for all of that."<br/>"I don't think I'll ever fall in love," the teenager protested, "much less twice. I'll have far more important things to do."<br/>"Oh my darling," Amanda cooed, running her fingers through dark brown curls, "falling in love might be the most important thing you'll do with your life."</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Ev'ry Day I Love You (Just A Little Bit More)

_"Should we even be reading this?" _

 

_ " Look ,  her memory is like the lost and found, and I've got my theories about why that is, and so did she. I lost her a while ago , but at least I have this, okay? This is the one thing that SHIELD couldn't take from either of us, because they don't know it exists."  _

* * *

** August 19, 1946 **

"English, is that you?" Angie's voice echoed, bouncing off of the papered walls of their new home. Calling back an affirmative, Peggy deposited her briefcase and keys onto the table near the front door and wandered in the direction of the kitchen, where her SSR training and now extensive knowledge of Italian cooking told her lasagna would be waiting.  What she wasn't prepared for were two distinctly male voices accompanying Angie's soft humming of her most recent audition song. 

"Howard? Mr. Jarvis?" Peggy quirked an eyebrow before shifting her line of sight to Angie who shrugged, actively avoiding eye contact.    
  
"Why is it that Jarvis gets a more respected greeting than I do, huh Pegs?"    
  
"Oh Howard," she cooed in response, tapping his cheek a bit more than gently. "Respect must be earned. I'd imagine you of all people would know that by now." She crossed the kitchen, leaning against one of the few counter edges not overrun with pans and half-empty food packages and  breathing in the comforting scent of Angie's cooking. Looking to her right, she noticed the barely concealed giggles shaking her roommate's shoulders, the action prompting a smile to tug at her cheeks. 

"Why don't we take this little rendezvous to the dining room - set the table while Miss Martinelli finishes up that lasagna? It smells incredible by the way."    
  
Peggy approached Howard in a few quick steps,  wrapping  one hand around his bicep , with  the other taking hold of a bottle of  cabernet . She led  him toward the aforementioned room, her grip a bit too tight around his arm for his comfort, evident by the slight grimace crossing his features . "You should know, after my outing with Mr. Jarvis, that I am even more aware than I was before of your transgressions with half of the women in New York, and  god  knows how many others across the world." Howard stayed silent, though he fruitlessly attempted to free himself from her hold. "I should think that you would know now that  Miss Martinelli ," she whispered, her tone mocking his from moments ago, "will not be another of your conquests Howard." 

"I can't help if women find me irresistible." 

"And I can't imagine how I've managed to resist you for all this time, if women are meant to just fall at your feet." Peggy rolled her eyes, releasing Howard's arm and setting the bottle of wine at the edge of the dining table. "Do try and control yourself for once. It isn't much of me to ask, seeing as I was nearly incarcerated while attempting to clear your name." 

"To be fair, I  _was_   innocent."    
  
"Oh flipping hell, Howard," Peggy whipped around, her hand coming to cover her forehead as she stifled an irritated groan. "I'm going to help Angie finish with dinner, while Mr. Jarvis sets the table, and you - "    
  
"And I -" he quickly interrupted , his voice quirking at the end of the phrase in question .    
  
" Oh , for the love of  god ," she hissed, her hand coming down to meet its twin, both now settled against her hips, her stance  reminiscent of a teacher scolding one of her schoolchildren. " You  will behave. I can't be bothered as to how you manage that - sit on your hands if you must - but you will behave. Am I understood?" 

Ignoring the petulant glare Howard sent in her direction, Peggy's heels clacked as she made her way back to the kitchen, resting a hand on Angie's shoulder as she pulled a bubbling dish  out of the oven. "I've got just a few more minutes on the garlic bread, English ," she explained, settling the substantial amount of lasagna atop the stove,  "so w hy don't you  get comfortable while the food cools? It's been about a hundred degrees out all week, and you insist on wearing that blazer of yours every day." 

Peggy tugged at the hem of her sleeves  uncomfortably before acquiescing, flashing  a self- deprecating smile toward Angie before  she heading  in the direction of her room. Safe behind the thick wooden door, she opened one  of the many windows, and let out a relieved sigh as she removed her jacket. The  slightest hint of a breeze pierced her much lighter- weight linen button down and she only felt more comfortable as she unbuttoned and rolled up her sleeves until her eyes landed on her bare wrist. There, where a scar should have been, was a single black tally mark and another, so pale a  pink that it was nearly indiscernible against her pale skin.

* * *

_ "Mum, are you ever going to tell me what the lines against your wrist are?" It seemed a perfectly logical question for a fourteen  year old, one that Margaret Carter had asked more times than she could tangibly count, ever  since she noticed the tally marks in  differing  colors against her mother's wrist. As she grew up and became more observant of the world around her, she found that nearly every adult around her had the same marks, though some had just one and others had many. It was when a girl a few years ahead of her in school boasted her first wrist mark that she decided to broach the subject again.  _

_ Amanda sighed, setting down the knife she'd been using to chop vegetables and focusing her attention on her wide-eyed daughter, so naturally inquisitive that it was almost frightening at times. "You receive a mark when you fall in love, darling. Those are red. If the person you love loves you as well, then the mark turns black on both of you, but once they die, the mark becomes a scar - a light  grey  scar."  _

_ "You only have one black mark."  _

_ Harrison Carter walked into the kitchen, pulling up his left sleeve for his daughter and pressing a kiss against his wife's cheek. "So do I," he chuckled, "and that's because we've only ever loved each other, Pegs. That's all I can hope for you too, once you're old enough for all of that."  _

_ "I don't think I'll ever fall in love," the teenager protested, "much less twice. I'll have far more important things to do."  _

_ "Oh my darling," Amanda cooed, running her fingers through dark brown curls, "falling in love might be the most important thing you'll do with your life."  _

* * *

Her mother's voice echoed in her head as she fastened her watch around her wrist, covering the two lines marring her skin as best she could manage. While others she knew flaunted their marks with pride, she'd kept hers covered since Steve's death. She'd seen far too many scars on the wrists of women after the war, and the mark her love for Steve had left had not faded in the slightest - as though it were taunting her. It was as dark as the day he first kissed her, and it now only brought more attention to the pale pink line next to it - a line she was valiantly fighting against, in the hopes of keeping Angie safe. It seemed she had a natural proclivity to bring harm to those closest to her, and while Angie was now well aware of the dangerous nature of her occupation, Peggy couldn't risk losing another person so close to her heart - not again, not ever. 

"English, put those legs of yours to use and get in here," she heard from the dining room, the nickname lending a rose colored flush to her porcelain skin. "Dinner is ready, and Jarvis has to be  home  by eight for Benny Goodman." 

Biting her lower lip and steeling herself, Peggy ignored the feeling of needles piercing  her wrist as her heels clacked against the wooden floors and she settled herself as comfortably as she could manage at the dining table. Once the wine was flowing and Howard was entertaining Angie with stories of Russia, Peggy adjusted her watch beneath the table, looking down and seeing the light pink mark was now darker, much more visible against her skin. Her gaze shifted from her lap to Angie's brightly shining eyes, taking in every detail of Howard's story telling, and a soft smile etched itself into her cheeks. As if she had a sixth sense, Angie turned her attention away for just a moment, her laughter fading into just as soft an expression as the one Peggy was sending her way, and the stinging against her wrist faded to a dull ache, one that was overpowered by the dancing rhythm of her heart against her rib cage.    



	2. Please Believe Me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> With a push from Howard and Jarvis, Peggy finally makes a move. A small move, but a move none the less.

 

** September 18th, 1946 **

As per the routine they'd developed , Peggy dropped her things near the front door and quietly maneuvered her way toward the kitchen. She found, as always,  a plate of leftover food warming in the oven though it was well after midnight. It had been nearly four months since she and Angie had moved in together, with  several weeks separating t heir dinner with Howard and Mr. Jarvis ,  and Peggy's current place  was  at the kitchen counter, ignoring the line against her wrist that grew slightly darker each night. 

Peggy had been spending more and more time at the SSR office, citing a litany of excuses for her absence on the rare occasions Angie questioned her work. However, despite her half-hearted lies, each night when she returned home, hours after Angie would typically retire to her room, she would find a plate of dinner still warm in the oven and a note in Angie's gently lilting cursive, hoping that the food was satisfactory (as if it ever wasn't) and wishing her sweet dreams. 

Peggy felt the now familiar twinge in her wrist and set down her fork to tug at the hem of her sleeve. Pulling it up she saw that the mark against her skin was now a much darker pink and the knowledge of that somehow made her heart beat just a bit more quickly as well as provoking a wave of nausea to come over her. She pushed away her plate, leaning both elbows on the counter and massaging her temples as she tried to quiet her mind. It wasn't working, not that it  ever did when it came to pushing thoughts of Angie out of every neuron  of her brain. Convincing herself to focus on anything other than bright blue eyes and  honey colored curls was next to impossible. 

Scraping her leftover food into the trashcan, her appetite now well and fully gone, she slipped off her heels and carefully padded toward her bedroom, not expecting a quiet voice to call out to her.    
  
"It's just me, Angie. You can go back to sleep." She carefully twisted her doorknob, ignoring the chill seeping into her bones as her brush off of Angie settled into her consciousness. Peggy was peeling off her tights as the woman who occupied so much of her mental space barged into her room without knocking, waves of barely controlled anger radiating off of her thin frame.    
  
"I don't know what I did," Angie began, throwing her hands up into the air, only emphasizing the volume of her words and making Peggy thankful they had no close neighbors,  "but i f you don't want me to live here anymore, just say so English."    
  
"Angie, that isn't at all what -"   
  
"If it's not that, then what?" Whatever anger she'd possessed was quickly waning, replacing her quivering fists with a shaky voice and her narrowed eyes with tear filled ones. "Am I not good enough for you? Is that what it is? "   
  
"Angie, of course you - " Peggy moved to close the distance between them, her arms open and extended, but she was pushed back roughly as her sentence was yet again interrupted.   
  
Angie's arms immediately wrapped around her body as she continued, tears pooling at the edges of her eyelashes.  " I'm not cultured enough, or rich enough, or smart enough, or - "

Peggy pushed against the churning in her stomach and the flare of embarrassment she'd felt rush through her body when Angie had thrown all her weight into keeping a  solitary sphere  around herself . Fighting Angie's flailing arms was no easy task, but Peggy managed, pressing their bodies as closely together as she could and wrapping her arms around slender shoulders. "You are more than enough, Angie. I want you to stay, but only if  you  want to stay."   
  
"You've been avoiding me, English. Just because I'm not some fancy secret agent doesn't mean I can't put together the facts." Peggy deflated slightly, and could feel the bile accompanying a lie burning in her throat, but before she had the chance to defend herself, even with  the ungenuine nature of her words, Angie interrupted her thought process once again. "I'm going back to bed. I work a double shift tomorrow, and I'm too tired to fight with you right now." She eased herself out of Peggy's grip, ducking her chin to her chest as she walked toward the door, pausing with a hand on the frame, as if she might turn around and say something else - something to ease the sting in both of their hearts, on both of their wrists. Peggy couldn't help but hold her breath, waiting for several long moments before Angie shook her head and continued in the direction of her room without looking back. 

It took quite a while for Peggy to recover from the stalemate she'd found herself in, wanting nothing more than to go to Angie and confess her true intentions in staying away. The logical  part of her brain, however - the part that had kept a stronghold on her actions since Steve - that part told her to get dressed for bed and handle things tomorrow. As she had for months now, she let that piece of herself win out over the churning of her gut and the tears pooling at the base of her eyelashes. She let that piece soothe her to sleep with repetitive phrases that appealed to Angie's well being and to Peggy's protective instincts. She let that piece continue controlling her heart, no matter how many tears rolled down her cheeks. 

* * *

The house was empty when Peggy awoke the next morning and the crashing waves in her stomach continued as she got dressed, only peaking when she bypassed the diner  and chose to drink the lackluster coffee at the SSR rather than subject herself to a hurt, possibly petulant Angie were she to stop for her morning cup.    
  
She flew through the day on autopilot , filing without complaint and staying as far away from Thompson as she could manage. She was unwilling to allow him to sour her mood further, and it was nearly five when she was brought out of the fog she'd spent her work day in.    
  
"Carter, you've got a delivery."    
  
His expression wasn't hard to read; it never really was.  She arched an eyebrow at the acting chief, impressed by whomever had gotten the package past the telephone company downstairs, but noting his disapproval when she approached her desk, finding a dark blue dress in a wardrobe bag, accompanied by a bouquet of violets and an envelope. She saw the smirks crossing many of her coworkers faces, surely convinced that the gifts were from Howard, despite her continuous protests against a romantic relationship with the head of Stark Industries. Slipping her nail beneath the envelope's seal, two tickets for an eight o'clock showing of  Yours Is My Heart , a  Broadway  show that Angie had auditioned for months ago, and a quickly scrawled note in two separate, yet distinctly  familiar handwriting styles.    
  
Couple b uddies  of mine  owe  me some  favors. Pick her up at six, bring her to  Longchamps and don't screw this up again Pegs. __   
  
Just beneath that, a few more words were scrawled, words that didn't send frustration thundering through her veins or irritation to itch at her brow.    
  
_ Best of luck Miss Carter. I have full confidence in your ability to right your wrongs.  _ __   
  
Then, as if the pair had fought over the paper, Howard's handwriting appeared once more, nearly breaking her heart with just eight words.    
  
_ Steve would have wanted you to be happy. _   
  
"I won't be staying late this evening Chief Thompson," she called toward his office, slipping the tickets into her purse and gently laying the dress over her arm, trying her hardest not to wrinkle the fabric.    
  
" Do whatever you want Carter. We wouldn't want to keep your boyfriend waiting. Stark doesn't seem like a patient man." Several of the men in the office chuckled, and s he fought the urge to bite back with a scathing response, looking up at the clock and seeing that she only had forty five minutes to change and get back to the automat to pick up her date. Violets in hand, she rushed toward the changing room, glad that it was empty of her  coworkers  and slid into the luxurious fabric Howard had provided before touching up her lipstick and repinning her hair. 

She strode out of the telephone company offices, smiling kindly at the few compliments thrown her way, before stepping onto the sidewalk and finding a black car waiting, a man dressed similarly to Mr. Jarvis standing next to it with the back door open and a sign that said "Miss Pegs Carter" written on it, an obvious difference of opinion between her two closest friends. 

As she settled into the backseat, the bouquet of violets clutched firmly between shaking hands, something it seemed that gunfire, near death, and constant belittlement couldn't bring out in her that Angie could, she allowed her mind to wander after her gaze fell on a light blue dress, one that matched Angie's eyes almost perfectly . She thought back to first night she'd found herself at the L&L , drowning a particularly hellacious day in cheesecake when the waitress, ignoring the rest of her customers, sat down across from her with another slice  said, "Whoever he is, he's not worth it."    
  
As the car pulled to a stop at the automat, Peggy mustered what little courage she possessed when it came to the smart-mouthed, starry-eyed woman she'd befriended upon returning to New York. The dress in one hand and the flowers in another, she waited for the driver to open her door before striding confidently into the diner, pleased to find that it was nearly empty, save for an older woman in the corner. Peggy walked up to the counter and cleared her throat, watching as Angie's expression flickered from what seemed like astonishment, to excitement, and back to frustration as clear as it had been the night before.    
  
"I told you I'm working a double shift tonight, Peggy," she muttered, reaching for a towel to occupy her hands as she wiped the counter down with much more force than necessary. "I'll just see you at the house ." 

Noting that it was the first time since they'd moved in together that Angie had referred to the townhouse as what it was, rather than their home, Peggy felt the verbal knife twist into her chest as she was sure Angie had intended. She took a deep breath to regroup, allowing the exhale to rid her limbs of the frantic energy coursing through them. 

"Your shift is covered Angie, and I'd imagine, as angry as you might be at me, that you'd prefer dinner and Broadway show to another six hours of oh so courteous diner patrons."    
  
Angie eyed the dress still folded over her roommate's arm before her line of sight dropped to the bouquet of violets tightly gripped tightly in Peggy's free hand. From her expression, mouth opened slightly and her hand doing an inadequate job of covering it, Peggy knew that the meaning was not lost on her. Any lingering frustration melted from Angie's body and a coy smirk tugged at the corner of her lips. "Why Miss  Carter, are you asking me on a date?"    
  
Peggy's laughed echoed through the automat and a bright smile lit up her features as she acquiesced, ducking her chin to chest before lifting her gaze to meet expectant blue eyes. "I suppose I am, Miss Martinelli." 

**Author's Note:**

> If you ever have questions or comments, you can send them to me at cosima-phdhaus on tumblr :)


End file.
